


March 2018

by ArtisticVicu



Series: Monthly Prompt Writings [18]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Based on a RP, Fallen Angels, M/M, Original Character(s), Poor Michael, Pride, no Jesus but he's still a jerk, the Plan, wrath - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisticVicu/pseuds/ArtisticVicu
Summary: Devil's Angel | Part 4-6Left to face sin on his own, Michael comes face to face with the one Brother he never expected to see again. There's a part of him that wants to blame said Brother for everything that had happened to him, for all he had to put up with, but there was another part that wanted to just lose himself in the love that was there, even if that love was fake.How badly could sin corrupt, anyways?
Relationships: Luciano/Michael, Lucifer/Michael
Series: Monthly Prompt Writings [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684405
Kudos: 3





	1. Absolutely Fabulous!

Waking was slow, difficult, and unwanted, but the nausea that seemed to just crash over him in waves was unrelenting and waking seemed to be the only state his body would let him be in.  
  
Whatever his forehead was pressed against was warm, almost hot, and he frowned. When had he become so cold?  
  
He curled towards the heat and his brain finally registered the arms holding him as they tightened at his movement.  
  
"Easy," came the gentle command from somewhere over his left ear, soft enough not to deafen him out of proximity. That single word rumbled the chest he finally realized he was against, the throat shifting against his forehead as the person carrying him spoke. "I've got you."  
  
He frowned as his foggy brain dredged up memories as best it could, memories of what had transpired who knew how long ago. "Lucifer?" he asked for the third time, though now the name came out crackly and on a fat tongue. His frown grew at his distaste for the slurring. The person carrying him hummed in a way to acknowledge his inquiry without vocalizing their own inquiry. Michael felt his heart clench as he gripped the expensive shirt covering the broad chest. Something shifted against his arm and he wondered when he had been draped in a coat that smelt all too familiar. "Or Luciano?"  
  
Again with the slurring but it seemed to have been enough for the man carrying him gave him a clear enough answer. "Both, in one way or another; Luciano is my current façade on Earth and I'll probably be changing it again in a decade or two as I normally do."  
  
Michael closed his eyes tightly. His brain was moving faster now which meant that it was taking in more from his senses. His sense of sight was finally seeing beyond the little bubble that was him against Lucifer's chest and the view of motion was not helping his nausea. At least he couldn't feel it yet.  
  
"Why did you let me believe that I was dealing with someone other than my Fallen Brother?" Michael ground against the fat tongue in his mouth. "I was so confused when Jesus brought me before God accusing me of associating with you when I truly thought you were nothing more than another mortal."  
  
Lucifer's head shifted but with Michael's forehead pressed against the other's neck and his eyes closed, he didn't know specifically how. He also wasn't sure he cared one way or the other.  
  
"You didn't pick up on my aura on our date?"  
  
Michael's eyes snapped open and – nausea be damned – he fisted his hands in Lucifer's shirt as he pushed himself away to stare at him. The sudden motion startled them both and Lucifer jerked to a stop in order to keep from not only losing Michael but from losing his own balance. Michael didn't have enough in him to care. Instead, he found himself staring at Lucifer, not Luciano like he had half expected, and that made the words come out higher than he had intended. "Why would you make me think I was going crazy because I couldn't shake the overlay of your face over Luciano's? I thought I was losing my mind!"  
  
Something crossed Lucifer's expression but the sudden motion and his sudden shrieking had caused his head to start pounding. That, in turn, made his nausea spike and he groaned as he pressed his forehead to Lucifer's shoulder with his eyes squeezed shut.  
  
Lucifer shifted his weight about enough to bury a hand in Michael's curls. "I apologize if I has caused you such turmoil. It had not been my intent and, to be honest, I had thought you had realized who I was when we had first met here on Earth."  
  
"I hadn't thought too much on what my aura had been picking up in the gallery so much as trying to not let you realize that I was drawing it back into myself," Michael countered, though there was an edge to his words he had not intended. He silently cursed his frustration with the situation and amended in a softer tone, "After that, I was working in the café surrounded by humans. There was no way I would have let my aura out to even try and sense anything off of you."  
  
Lucifer chuckled and Michael felt it rumble through his arms into his chest. It didn't help his headache. "No, no. Before all that."  
  
Michael frowned. "Before all that?" He parroted. And before Lucifer could even say a word towards it, the nausea suddenly spiked. With a moan, he quickly uttered, "I'm going to be sick."  
  
He wasn't sure where they had been nor where they had been heading, but thankfully they had been close enough to some restroom that by the time Michael could no longer suppress the urge to expel whatever his body was rejecting, his face was over some toilet.  
  
There was no tracking of time nor memories after that. Only impressions stayed with him once the whole ordeal passed and those impressions returned as he laid against Lucifer's chest on the bathroom floor, too exhausted to try to protest or move and far too cold to even think about leaving the furnace that Lucifer seemed to be.  
  
The first impressions were of Lucifer's constant presence, the other always there and always comforting him in some way: rubbing circles into his back, softly rubbing a damp cloth over the back of his neck and through his hair, cleaning his face.  
  
Covering his eyes to keep him from seeing what his body was rejecting so vehemently even if the tears did that for him.  
  
And the more impressions that came, the more confused he got: there were no discernable words but Lucifer's voice wrapped around him regularly, the other's strong arms holding him close in the brief reprieves that occurred.  
  
Holding him close as he cried.  
  
Shame washed through him and was quickly followed by self-loathing. He could not remember anything he had blabbed while sobbing turning some of the reprieves but he knew there were many a word he had never intended to share. A sour taste that had nothing to do with bile filled his mouth; out of all the people to lose it in front of, Lucifer had never been high on his list. He had idolized his Brother and had done everything to be seen as worthy enough. Now he was nothing more than a Fallen afflicted by some human illness that had degraded him down to the level of babbling moron.  
  
Lucifer shifted under him and Michael opened his eyes. The bathroom was spacious, well decorated, and he couldn't help but wonder where they had ended up. "Are you feeling well enough to move to the bed?"  
  
"Bed?" Michael echoed faintly, trying to get beyond the exhaustion to remember if Lucifer had ever mentioned where they were at.  
  
Lucifer's hand through his hair was oddly soothing and he found himself settling against Lucifer again, almost slipping off to sleep only for Lucifer's voice to cut through gently. "I was able to make it to my home. We're in the bathroom attached to my bedroom."  
  
There was his answer, then. "I doubt I'll be vomiting any time soon. I doubt there's anything left my body can expel anyways."  
  
Lucifer hummed but Michael wasn't sure if that was because Lucifer had nothing to add or had kept from saying something else. There was movement under him before he was up in Lucifer's arms once more. He wasn't sure how the other male was able to carry him without obvious strain and probably would have asked under different circumstances. Instead, his muddled brain bypassed the question and went straight to letting out a contented moan as he was placed on a mattress that enveloped him so complete that he nearly fell asleep at that moment. It was only the covers being pulled over him and Lucifer's voice that kept him from slipping under completely.  
  
"I'll be in the living room if you need me. Just shout or reach me with your aura."  
  
Michael shifted about and blindly grabbed for Lucifer. Fingers ensnared fabric and he clung to it vehemently, Lucifer's body heat slipping beyond the fabric confirmation that he had indeed grabbed the other. "Why are you leaving?"  
  
Amusement washed over him and he blatantly realized that Lucifer's aura was not currently restricted. "Because you need sleep and I want to watch some tv for a while."  
  
"You have a tv in here," Michael protested, though he didn't know that for sure. He couldn't remember actually seeing one.  
  
"It'll keep you up," Lucifer countered, his hands gentle as he pried Michael's fingers from the fabric and confirming Michael's blind accusation.  
  
Michael snorted into the pillow that smelt not of Luciano but Lucifer, as if the other slept in his proper human form rather than the façade he portrayed to the public, not that there was much difference between either. "I'm going to be dead to the world in all of two seconds. Stay and watch your show. I don't want to rid you of your bed."  
  
And that had been the unintentional display of his distress. And while he would rather not have said that, he truly did not want Lucifer leaving. The thought of being left alone, of being vulnerable to Jesus's antics, and of having to face another bout of vomiting should it occur also brought to focus that he was imposing on Lucifer and Lucifer's home.  
  
Comfort wrapped around him as Lucifer brought Michael's knuckles to his lips. Michael wondered if he had accidentally spoken his distress more than he had already unintentionally had done.  
  
"Alright, I'll stay," Lucifer conceded against the skin of Michael's knuckles before lowering Michael's hand back to the mattress. "But if I'm keeping you up, let me know."  
  
Michael hummed an affirmation. When Lucifer moved away, Michael found it hard not to just pass out. He waited, listening as Lucifer shuffled about, the sound of fabric and things getting dropped or tossed filling the silence in spirts, until finally the other side of what Michael quickly discovered was a massive bed dipped under the other Fallen's weight. Lucifer's presence approached along with the weight on the mattress till Lucifer was just beyond what Michael was sure was arm's reach. Already inches from the edge of the bed, Michael couldn't fathom how large this mattress truly was and why Lucifer had such a large bed. Certainly he grew lonely.  
  
He ignored the anger at their situations, of how Lucifer had the height of luxury while Michael lived among the common folk.  
  
When he awoke, it was to warm sunlight cutting through a crack between the blackout curtains and filtered through the sheer curtains beyond. He also woke up alone in the massive bed in an unfamiliar room. At least he felt better, if not a bit groggy and quite grimy. He must have had a fever that broke while he slept.  
  
While angels never got sick, living in human forms certainly made them more susceptible to an array of illnesses with varying degrees of severity. Because of how he worked and where he worked – too hard and too often – he had come down with the occasional cold or stomach bug but the severity had never been to the level as what he could only presume was the day prior's experience.  
  
Shifting in the sheets, foggy memories of what had transpired during the height of whatever he had gone through filtered through his mind. The only things that seemed to have settled there were Lucifer and Luciano were the same person and that he had said and done things he would not have normally said and done.  
  
But what had transpired in Heaven came back crystal clear.  
  
He let his feet touch the cool floor when he sat up at the bed's edge. Tremors coursed through his body simply at the memories of God's actions and when he tried to get his wings to show, his body fought him tooth and nail.  
  
The trauma of God ripping his wings into existence made the process of pulling his wings into existence a painstakingly slow process but he had to check, to see. When the last tug was made and the full weight of his wings was on his back once more, he opened his eyes.  
  
His wings looked dead as they half curled around his shoulders. Any slight shift or tiny twitch would send a cascade of feathers down onto the sheets and carpet lacking any luster that would have normally been there. It wasn't like the feathers seemed to be clinging to the wing structure to begin with and they were so brittle that the one he had picked up broke. The bits of feather caught between his fingers seemed to turn to dust.  
  
He was disgusted.  
  
What was even more infuriating was, despite how careful and slow he had been, he could feel blood trickling down his back, seeping into the shirt he wore.  
  
He should have been more careful.  
  
"Michael."  
  
Lucifer's hand was cold even through the shirt on his back and Michael hissed against the touch, though the pain was nothing compared to when God had yanked his wings out. The other's hand stayed, healing energy flowing into his back in an attempt to counter the damage he had inevitably created. Michael quickly moved to his feet, putting distance between them even as it created a shower of feathers. Michael was glad Lucifer's expression was so controlled he couldn't even read it. He was not in the mood for pity. "Don't," he snapped, though what he was telling Lucifer not to do was beyond him.  
  
"You shouldn't have brought them out," Lucifer spoke evenly. "What healing I can do was nothing compared to what God had done to your back and bringing them back out only opened the wounds again."  
  
The laugh was dry and sharp. "No kidding," Michael spoke ruefully. "I can feel the blood dripping down my back from these _decrepit_ things."  
  
Lucifer's expression hardened. "Michael," he warned, but whatever was going to finish the warning off was never spoken.  
  
"This is great, isn't it?" he went on sarcastically, throwing his hands up as his anger grew. "Absolutely fabulous!" He gestured at Lucifer. "You get to keep wings worthy of any angel despite being a Fallen and what do I get? Decrepit, _useless_ limbs that will probably be featherless in the next hour."  
  
Whatever Lucifer had been able to do in that brief moment of contact was undone as he forced his wings away, tearing the wounds on his back even bigger and barely even flinching from the pain.  
  
The feathers didn't disappear.  
  
"I'm going home," he spoke to the window.  
  
"Michael," Lucifer spoke again, stepping towards him but Michael stepped around the other Fallen.  
  
"You can't keep me here, Lucifer," Michael countered, his steady voice quaking at the edges as he paused at Lucifer's side. "Not when I don’t want to be here." There was a pause and he half expected Lucifer to fill it but there were no words from the other. So, Michael gave his last piece, glacing over at Lucifer but not looking at the other's face. "Thank you for your help, Lucifer. I'll let you know when I'm feeling up to company."  
  
Lucifer didn't stop him on his way out of the bedroom and certainly not across the living space. It wasn't till he had sat down to put his shoes on that Lucifer did anything but it wasn't what he had expected.  
  
A coat settled on his shoulders, heavy but comforting. Lucifer offered in leau of the coat, "The blood's seeped into the back of your shirt. This will keep it hidden and keep you warm. There's a cold front in town right now and it's quite chilly outside."  
  
Looking over his shoulder, he found Lucifer already halfway across the apartment heading down some hallway. Baffled but not at all deterred, he finished putting his shoes on before slipping his arms into the sleeves. He found his keys on the table near the door and stepped out.  
  
The coat smelt of Lucifer.


	2. Say my name, say my name.

The walk was equally short and excruciatingly long. He could feel the distance in his body with the way it ached, legs trembling as he came to a halt before his door.  
  
Somewhere along the trek he had realized that he had left Lucifer's dressed in cloths that were not his, meaning if he had his keys, they weren't on him now. A dull thought questioning what he would do with the door locked passed through his tired brain as he tried the handle.  
  
The door opened, revealing an apartment well lit in the dead of night filled with several people.  
  
He was certain his name was shouted as he was pulled into the apartment, jostled about by hands and arms familiar but unwanted. He flinched from the pain in his back and the cacophony of sound around him.  
  
"Give him space!" came a sharp order and there was suddenly space around him. He sucked in air greedily as Gruff Boss became his focal point before him. Ever in charge, the burly man was the only one to step closer now.  
  
Michael wish he hadn't let the man. From one instance to the next, Michael was forced to turn around, jacket pulled off and shirt shoved over his head. He hissed as cold air hit raw wounds agitated by the sudden removal of his shirt. He struggled to replace the shirt but his boss's grip was strong regardless of how gentle it was.  
  
"Penelope, go get what counts as a first aid kit this moron owns." He heard movement towards the bathroom as Gruff Boss directed him somewhere. Another set of hands were on him as equally careful as his boss's as he heard the muffled scrap of a kitchen chair. He was forced to straddle the chair and rest his front against the backrest with his arms still pinned near his head by his shirt. "Ryan, Nate."  
  
"Name it and we're on it, Boss," the baker spoke from somewhere to his left. There was sound of another chair being moved.  
  
"Help him out of that shirt and keep him seated. And do try to be careful."  
  
"Always, boss," the other responded as the pair started working the shirt off of Michael. He did his best not to fight the unwanted touch despite their purpose.  
  
"Here, Roderick." Penelope - his other boss - had returned as his head came free. He squinted against the sudden harsh light. He gave both men a flat look as Gruff Boss responded from behind him, "Thanks."  
  
There was a brief moment of silence filled only by the sound of the shirt leaving his body completely and of Gruff Boss fiddling with whatever his sister had handed him.  
  
He felt far more exposed than he was comfortable.  
  
"What happened to your back, Michael."  
  
Penelope's question was hard, more of an order for him to explain than any actual option for him to dodge the words. Despite knowing there was compassion there, he wasn't about to tell any of them the specifics. He shrugged, flinching from the pain it caused. Ryan and Nate each shot a hand to his shoulder, pinning him down. Rage curled in his gut at the trapped sensation that settled over him. "I scraped up my back doing something stupid," he ground out. daring them to press the issue.  
  
A chuckle rolled from behind him, the sound coming across dangerous and humorless as it was quickly followed by Roderick commenting, "Walking home instead of heading to the hospital was stupid."  
  
Ryan's hand squeezed his shoulder, concern on his face as he asked, "Any other injuries we need to know about?"  
  
"How are your hands?" Nate suddenly inquired, reaching for one such appendage with his free hand.  
  
There was a stutter in his brain as he was forced to adjust his focus from his anger to his person. His gaze moved to his hands as Nate's enclosed one.  
  
They were completely healed. There wasn't even any sign of scrapping from pavement or any sort of injury and that was probably all thanks to Lucifer having healed him after the Fallen had first found him A part of him wished he hadn't. "Surprisingly fine. Seems Theo's quick actions yesterday had done the work."  
  
The sudden silence was deafening and his head came up so fast, the grips on his shoulders became painful as they attempted to keep him still. He brought his head around, defensive and unsure. He opened his mouth to say something - anything - but the only thing that seemed to come out was one measly word. "What?"  
  
Roderick's hand was heavy and he turned, looking at his gruff boss. "Michael." He felt his stomach drop. Roderick never called him by his first name. "You've been missing for three days."  
  
There seemed to be no air in the room as what air had been in his lungs was taken away. "What?" he released in a strangled, breathy voice.  
  
Nate spoke up, drawing his attention. "When we sent you home, Boss asked me to check on you the next morning. You normally answer any text I send ya, even if it takes a few hours. But when you didn't respond before your shift was supposed to start the next day..."  
  
"We got worried something had happened," Ryan took over, his words sure where Nate's had failed. "We thought maybe you had been in an accident or something but the Bosses said to give you time, that injured hands could be making things a bit difficult and to not worry too terribly much about it."  
  
"When you didn't come to work this afternoon without calling in again, Roderick sent Nate to your apartment," Penelope spoke up. "We hadn't expected the panic phone call from Nate. It had taken a few words from Roderick before he was able to understand why Nate was in such a frenzy. Your phone and your keys were on the table and the front door was unlocked but you were nowhere to be found. Roderick and I came here after we left Theodore in charge of the cafe, what with Ryan being so adamant about coming with. We were about to call the cops when you walked in."  
  
Michael stared at the floor in disbelief. There was no way he had been gone three days. Two, maybe, but three? Had he been with Lucifer for that entire time? When had Jesus taken him to Heaven? Had it been night? He couldn't remember and trying to was making his head throb in pain.  
  
Pain seared his back and he hissed as he tried to recoil from it but Nate and Ryan were there, hands keeping him from moving too far as Roderick informed him rather dispassionately, "Disinfectant. I want to get these clean before we take you to the hospital."  
  
Michael shook his head as he gripped at a fistful of blonde curls. "No. Just clean them and wrap it. I'll be fine."  
  
"Michael." It was Nate but he didn't look up. "Those look nasty, like something ripped your skin. You need stitches."  
  
Michael shook his head again but was interrupted by pain as Roderick pressed against the injuries. "I'll be fine," he ground out.  
  
"To hell you'll be," Ryan snapped, his hand on Michael's shoulder suddenly becoming painfully tight. Michael forewent gripping his curls to gripping Ryan's wrist, glaring at the blue haired man. "As soon as Roderick gives the go ahead, I am dragging you to the nearest hospital, even if I have to throw you over my shoulder, kicking and screaming."  
  
Michael's expression darkened. "You wouldn't dare."  
  
"Try me," Ryan snarled in return, the threat of him actually doing so very real. If not Ryan, he knew that Roderick would.  
  
He gave in, letting go of Ryan's wrist. "Fine."  
  
Roderick's touch against his injuries became gentle and Michael rested his forehead on his crossed arms. Nate started combing his fingers through Michael's curls and Michael found himself relaxing.  
  
"Just a bit longer and we'll get you some good drugs," Nate offered, voice quaking at the edges as he attempted to ease the mood.  
  
Michael didn't respond but he did press into the touch. While it wasn't as sure as Lucifer's, he knew that Nate was just trying to help and it was honestly a comforting gesture regardless.  
  
Soft chatter filled the air over his head, numbing his thoughts as the air numbed his skin. By the time they had pressed a temporary bandage over his injuries, he was shivering. Nate quickly slipped out of his sweater and wrapped it around him. It smelled of some soap and the faint scent of coffee. Ryan then draped his heavy leather coat around Michael's shoulders and Michael was enveloped by the scent of leather and cigarette smoke.  
  
The trip to the hospital was rather uneventful and surprisingly quick. He wasn't about to point fingers but he was certain that someone had called ahead to get an appointment or something because they took him right in and gave him a local anesthesia before doing a thorough cleaning despite Roderick's attempts. Apparently he hadn't realized just how big the wounds were until he felt them working from his shoulder to the base of his ribs. In fact, there was quite a bit of fuss and talk of possible skin grafting but Michael only paid so much attention what with the others there to listen and comment.  
  
He fell asleep somewhere near the beginning of the whole thing because he didn't remember feeling the stitches when Ryan and Nate left his sides to climb out of the car. He blinked blearily around, confused. It must have shown as Ryan gently grabbed his arm as Nate unbuckled him. "Come on. You're bed's calling your name. Docs want to do a follow-up due to how severe the injuries were and had not been ok with letting you leave but you were adamant even in the half asleep state you were in."  
  
"Fairly certain I was asleep," he countered, leaning on Ryan as Nate opened the door. Up a few flights of stairs and he found himself back in his own living space. Nate hurried on ahead turning on lights and opening doors while Ryan guided him through the rooms, their bosses bring up the rear.  
  
"You gonna be ok without us?" Nate asked as Ryan helped him into a sleep shirt.  
  
Michael hummed an affirmation. "My phone's on the nightstand-" he wasn't sure who stuck it there but he was glad to see it, "and I don't have work tomorrow."  
  
"You're on a week's leave," Roderick commented loudly from the bathroom. Michael heard the clatter of pills and figured that the burly man was putting the pills away.  
  
"And I don't have work for a week."  
  
Ryan touched his shoulder. "Do you want me and Cynthia to come by in a few days to keep ya company?"  
  
"Alex and I have the day off tomorrow. We could come by and check on you," Nate even offered.  
  
Michael smiled weakly at all off them, exhausted but touched despite the annoyance that curled in his gut. "I'll let you know. I'm fairly certain I'm just going to sleep for the next few days."  
  
Roderick walked over and pressed something into his hand. When Roderick's hand pulled away, Michael found himself staring at a few pills as a glass of water was pushed into his other hand. Penelope was setting the pill bottles down next to his phone with a bottle of water. He popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed a mouth full of water. He shuddered at the nasty taste left behind by one of the pills.  
  
Penelope's gentle hand found his hair. "We'll drop by with food tomorrow morning. We've set alarms on your phone for when you need to take pills and I'll have Nate and Alex meet us here and they can make sure you eat tomorrow evening as well."  
  
Nate nodded. "Alex can bring their game system. We'll just bum on your couch like we would be doing at our place anyways."  
  
Michael nodded in turn, yawning. Roderick puffed up, gesturing to everyone, "Alright, time to leave. Let's let the poor sap get some sleep."  
  
Everyone filed out, Roderick being the last. As the gruff man grabbed the door, he looked to Michael. "You let us know if you need anything, alright?"  
  
Michael nodded, serious. "Of course. Thank you, Roderick."  
  
"Sleep well," the man responded before closing the door.  
  
Michael was shrouded in mostly darkness, the only light being the lamp on the nightstand by his bed and what light bled from the window. Situating himself on his front, he turned the light off and tried to sleep.  
  
He couldn't get comfortable. His back itched and his skin crawled. It was like he was being watched or something else was in the room with him. He tried to move, to look, but his body was too heavy with exhaustion that even his eyes refused to open and focus.  
  
Suddenly there was a weight on his back, a hand burying itself in his hair as fingers dug into one wound, a voice equal parts Jesus's and Lucifer's gleefully demanding, "Say my name." And then it shouted, " _Say my name_!"  
  
He shot upright and to the side, his entire back flaring in pain but he ignored it as he gasped for breath. There was nothing in the room and he grabbed at his phone, finding it to be hours after he had been put to bed. He rubbed at his face, hand trembling at the memory of the dream.  
  
His phone chirped in his hand and he was rather surprised when the sudden sound didn't startle him. A text notification illuminated the screen and he swiped at it.  
  
It was a text from Penelope informing him that he would be having company in two hours. Turning the screen off, he placed the phone back on the nightstand and hunkered down to try and get a nap in before he had to deal with company.  
  
He was relieved when he found himself waking up to the sound of someone knocking on his door.


	3. Over the edge

His phone chirped, the twill far different than the text tone he was used to. Reaching blindly for it, he sucked in air as pain rippled down his back with the motion. Turning his face, he glared at the blasted thing only to see that it was a labelled alarm. He had forgotten they had done that for him.  
  
He tapped to disable the alarm and sat up. The pills were already prepped on his nightstand thanks to Penelope so he had no trouble gathering what he needed and swallowing them with a long drag of water from the water bottle.  
  
He doubted they would have any real lasting effect despite being so potent. At least, they normally wouldn't have a lasting one while he had still been an Archangel but now that he was Fallen....  
  
He stood up, grabbing his phone out of habitual motion rather than actual need. There was the faint urge to text Lucifer and ask but then annoyance curled in his gut and he simply pocketed the phone on his way to the living room.  
  
The urge to just flop down on the couch nearly surpassed his ability to not follow through, resulting in him sitting far harder than he would have liked, He winced when his wounds were jarred but nothing pulled or ripped so he took what he could. He fetched the tv remote and settled back, easing pressure on his back till he was equal parts comfortable and tolerable of the faint pain.  
  
It was unlike him to settle on anything violent but, for some reason, the action flick was the only thing on that seemed even remotely interesting. The only downside was that it made him want to actually do something equally violent. He pulled out his phone, bringing up Nate's number.  
  
 **To Nate: Hey, if you can, grab a game I can kill things in. Or break things. I have a need to break things and would rather said things not be real.**  
  
Dropping hand and phone to his lap, he glared at the movie irritated and in pain.  
  
His phone chirped.  
  
 **From Nate: Alex said they'd go grab what violent games they have and I've got the Lego games already packed. That work?  
  
To Nate: Yeah.**  
  
He tossed the phone to the side, wondering if his sudden annoyance with everything had anything to do with his Fall but he brushed the thought aside. Wasn't like he was going to call Lucifer up and ask anyway. So, instead, he settled in to glare at the tv while his thoughts drifted around Lucifer for whatever reason.  
  
Michael looked up when the lock on his door clicked and he pulled himself out of thoughts about Lucifer as he pulled himself to his feet. He smiled softly at his bosses as they entered closely followed by Nate and Nate's partner Alex. Roderick was nearly obscured by a massive bouquet of flowers and the sight banished the annoyance he had been feeling all morning with a good chuckle. Penelope was right behind him, deviating to the kitchen where she settled her small load of food supplies. Alex followed Penelope with even more food things. Nate was the last one in, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a good sized box tucked under the same arm. He closed the door as Roderick managed to put the vase of flowers on the table.  
  
"Who's idea was it to bring me the whole flower field?" Michael teased, humored by the still very massive bouquet drowning his table.  
  
"The entire cafe and our regulars," Roderick growled. Michael chuckled again. Despite the harshness of the words, Roderick was rather pleased with the flowers if the glint in the man's gaze was anything to go by, not to mention how he carefully rearranged a few. Michael would have bet good money that Roderick had rearranged the bouquet himself. His gruff boss was nit-picky enough for something like that.  
  
"Extend my thanks, then," he offered honestly, meeting Roderick's gaze as the man looked his way. "How long are you guys staying?"  
  
Roderick huffed. "I'm not. I've got to get back to the cafe because we're short handed and it ain't really anyone's fault. Penny will head back to the cafe after she's done making sure you lot have eaten well." The man shrugged. "As for the pair of trouble makers, that's on them."  
  
"We'll stay as long as you want us," Alex chimed in, their voice melodious and pleasant. The smile on their face was equally pleasant. "Though, we were planning on staying till you crashed for the night unless directed otherwise."  
  
Michael nodded as irritation edged his good mood. He tried to hide it as best he could, offering with a smile, "Sounds good." He looked to Roderick. "Thank you for the flowers. Hope things go smoothly at the cafe."  
  
"So do I," the burly man agreed. He patted Michael's shoulder ever aware of the injuries Michael was sporting before leaving.  
  
The small space was filled with good smells and chatter in a matter of minutes and Michael found himself on the couch feeling disconnected from it all. The anger was back and he fought hard to stay pleasant as the others prepped the table for breakfast. Nate placed the massive bouquet on the coffee table before offering him a hand up. Despite his desire to slap it away, he took the aid and wandered over to the table where Penelope and Alex were putting down plates and dishes full of food.  
  
He was glad the anger wasn't affecting his appetite, at least. The food was delicious and he was certain he hadn't eaten in a few days. He certainly couldn't remember eating, if nothing else.  
  
When the meal ended, he was banished to the living room with Alex as Nate and Penelope started cleaning up. Alex moved to the gaming equipment and started hooking the system up. Feeling useless and growing angry because of it, he wandered into his room in hopes that separating himself from the others would help.  
  
He stared at the pills on the nightstand. His back was hurting but he couldn't get past the anger to figure out if he needed to take more pain killers. So, instead, he went and utilized his bathroom.  
  
He avoided looking at the mirror.  
  
When he returned, it was to find everyone gathered near the door. It wasn't hard for him to piece together that Penelope was now heading out so he joined them and offered her a tired smile. "Thanks for coming by. Let Roderick know I appreciated his brief visit, too."  
  
Penelope nodded, a soft smile on her lips. "I will." Her gaze went to the other two. "You two take care of him now."  
  
Alex gave a cheesy salute as Nate nodded, assuring her, "We will."  
  
That stirred the anger within him, making it worse.  
  
The video games only added to it.  
  
He appreciated their attempts at getting him to relax and have fun but the anger was only building and it was a miracle that Alex had suggested eating out. It had been a decent idea and the change in scenery was nice but he was just getting more pissed by the second. Thankfully they hadn't gone too far from his home and it was stupidly easy convincing the pair to return without him after reassuring them that he just wanted the chance to walk home alone.  
  
They didn't need to know he was going to find out if it was even possible to walk off the anger he was feeling before he went over the edge and harmed someone.


End file.
